


Comfortember 26: Junk Food

by FlyinBanachab



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Gen, Phone Calls, as usual Breda swears, snacks, the long dark winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27537046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyinBanachab/pseuds/FlyinBanachab
Summary: Even in the worst of times,  Breda's exasperated, furious, ironic-- but neverdefeated.
Relationships: Heymans Breda & Vato Falman, Vato Falman/Doc
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	Comfortember 26: Junk Food

"How are things out west?" The first few times Falman had asked Breda this question, he'd been able to do it it sitting down, or leaning casually against the desk. Now, he spent these phone calls pacing up and down the little office, as far as the cord would stretch.

"Oh, just fuckin peachy," Breda groused. "They haven't let me off base in two weeks."

So this line wasn't secure. Falman felt a little queasy at that; keeping Breda on a tighter leash was a bad sign for all of them. _What did they know? What did they suspect?_

Breda continued, burying the information in a rant: "And the food on base is fuckin atrocious. They really can't spare me long enough to go to the goddamn convenience store? Fuckin ridiculous. Not to mention we're getting our asses handed to us. They're calling in reinforcements from Essler."

Falman sucked in a breath. "They need more?" More blood for the transmutation circle. More lives. How many people were being sacrificed, this very minute? Too many.  


"Yeah. We're down to a skeleton crew here." Breda cleared his throat. "How's things up north?"

"Good, actually." Falman felt a stab of guilt. Just luck of the draw that sent him to the conspirator's corner, rather than the front lines. Would that they were all here, together. "The general's training us hard," in preparation for the spring invasion, Breda would understand, "but at least it keeps us warm!"  


"Heh." It was not a laugh so much a forced exhalation.  


"Breda. Are you... alright?"

A silence so long Falman thought he'd been hung up on.  


And when Breda finally replied,  


"Sure."  


The word was so flat, so hollow, so-- _defeated_. That's not Breda. Even in the worst of times, Breda's exasperated, furious, ironic, but never-- _defeated_. Falman’s blood ran cold at the thought. _Are things really that bad? The plan IS coming together. Isn't it? Yeah, it's bad out west, scary down south, but... Spring, right?_

"Hey..." Falman ventured, but he's not sure what else to say. "Uh. Hang in there."  


"Yeah."  


Breda does hang up then, leaving Falman staring at the receiver, worrying, until a hand on his shoulder startled him back to the fort. Doc was looking at him with mild concern. He'd much rather see her smiling, so he hung up and composed himself.  


"Hey," she said. "Weather's cleared up so they're making a run into town. You can catch the bus if you hurry."  


"Oh! Thank you!" He automatically took a long stride toward the door, then turned back to her. "You coming?"

She smiled that cheeky smile that made his heart skip. "Of course! Who knows when I'll get another chance?"  


They walked side by side down the hall. Normally this fact would completely consume his attention, but all he could think about was Breda, implicit prisoner of West HQ, ... _defeated_. 

\--

Breda twined the phone cord around his fingers while he waited for Karley to retrieve Falman. This call was unscheduled, so a wait was no surprise. Still, they could hurry the fuck up.  


He eyed the box on the desk with suspicion.  


"Falman." He sounded concerned, which only made sense, considering Breda was no in the habit of making unscheduled calls.   


"Hey bud. You send me a package, by chance?" It claimed to be from him, sure, but no way in hell Breda was about to crack the lid on a mystery box without confirmation. He wasn’t born yesterday.  


Falman breathed a sigh of relief over the line, and when he spoke, he sounded sightly embarrassed.

"Oh, uh, yes I did! Sorry I didn't warn you, it was, uh, kind of an impulse."  


Okay, well, this was a first. What in the world? Breda pulled out his pocket knife and popped the twine. 

"Oh you don't need to open it right now,--" _definitely_ embarrassed.   


"Obviously I do," he smirked, digging through the packing paper to find-- food. Prepackaged snack food, a whole damn box full. It had to be every single kind you could get, that far up north. A coded message?  


Breda dug through the box. "Hey, you got good taste.” Not a dud in the bunch. But it didn’t make sense. This was nothing even remotely similar to any of their systems.

"What's the occasion?" Breda asked. "I don't see a note." What he meant, and what Falman would know he meant, was, 'What’s the code? I don't get it.'  


A long pause. Breda could _hear_ Falman blushing.  


"No note. Just a-- just a care package. On the phone last, you sounded..."

Breda cringed. He knew how he'd fucking sounded; he'd been kicking himself ever since. No reason to take it out on Falman like that, guy had enough to deal with.

"... claustrophobic," Falman finished, politely. "I know, it's silly, but I thought... you know, since you can’t get out..."

Just a care package. Just a-- it occurred to him then, probably every single one of these goddamn snacks, Falman remembered him eating before. He sat down abruptly.  


_Falman, you goddamn considerate son of a bitch. How fucking dare you remind me that we’re still in this together._  


"Breda? Are you-- still there?"  


"Yeah. Thanks."   


He hung up and wiped his eyes.   



End file.
